


(when i'm with you i'm) standing with an army

by breakeven



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Daddy Kink, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, OT3, Polyamory, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Threesome - M/M/M, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, briefly lmao, it's like one line, lmao at that tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 05:38:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6143238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakeven/pseuds/breakeven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They lay together that night, the three of them, with Tony in the middle of the bed and Bucky’s head resting on his chest, their legs tangled together, and Steve curled in the protective circle of Tony’s arm, holding him close to the two of them. </p><p>(Tony and Bucky need Steve. Steve needs them too)</p>
            </blockquote>





	(when i'm with you i'm) standing with an army

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for this fandom so let me apologize right now for any ooc-ness, as I'm not good at dialogue and humor (and that's a lot of what Tony Stark is made of), and also this is unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. Oh and this features tiny badass super spy assassin Steve Rogers and it is my headcanon that this specific version of Steve is a vegetarian. Enjoy!

  * Bucky



He gets like this sometimes. It’s not something that can ever really be predicted or even avoided for the most part; Bucky just gets like this. He gets anxious and quietly angry and he’ll stalk through the apartment with this wide set rage on his face, clenching and unclenching his fists until he exhausts himself into calming down. His left shoulder will ache and his face will pinch up too and sometimes Same tells Steve it’s not really safe for him _ or _ Tony to be around him when he’s like this, when he’s a predator starving, but. Steve couldn’t possibly walk away from his best guy when he’s needed most, when his best guy needs someone to cling on to and keep, so he never listens.

Tonight, Bucky jerks awake and away at the same time and pulls himself out of bed with the robotic movements that were trained and beaten into him in Afghanistan. His eyes are completely dull and he doesn’t seem to be aware that Steve is already awake beside him, had been drawing pictures on Tony’s back to soothe the other man to sleep not even an hour before when his insomnia was rearing its ugly head. Bucky slinks through the darkness and out of their bedroom as stealthily as an animal of hunt. Steve knows that if he could get a clear look at his Bucky’s face the man in front of him would be almost completely unrecognizable. Steve waits a few minutes before pressing a kiss between Tony’s shoulder blades and dragging himself out of bed. He’s wide awake and very tired but that’s okay. The apartment is really cold (Bucky likes it that way) so Steve is bundled up against the conditions and his feet make no noise clad in his warmest, thickest socks.

He finds Bucky in the kitchen. Tony’s AI has turned on the lights at a dim setting so that Steve could walk through the penthouse without falling over anything, but the kitchen is drenched in near complete darkness. The only reason Steve can even tell where Bucky is standing is because of the low glint of his metallic left arm.

“Can you bring the lights up just a bit for me Jarvis?” he asks very quietly, so as not to startle Bucky, who is standing rigidly with his hands braced on the doors of the fridge, unmoving.

As the rooms brightens, Bucky stiffens even farther. His face does not change, pained and disassociated as his expression is, the familiarity of sight and the sight of Steve does not waver him. He looks uncomfortable with himself and with the room and Steve wants nothing more than to reach out and rub the muscles he knows have tightened themselves to pain in Bucky’s shoulders.

“Hiya Buck,” he whispers, knowing he’s heard. Bucky does not acknowledge his presence so Steve continues stepping forward. Tony will have to replace the handles on the fridge in the morning (or just buy a new one, knowing him), Bucky’s gripping them so tightly.

“What do you need out of there?” he asks quietly, but not condescendingly.

When Bucky came home from his third tour he’d been more than a little worse for wear. He was missing an arm, for one thing. He was missing friends for another; men who’d laid down their lives so he could continue his. He’d been full of guilt and anger and sadness and not enough words to express this and it had been a lot for him to deal with. James Barnes had never been an overly emotional guy, never had been good at telling anyone (not even Steve) how he felt, not even when they were kids, and when he came home to everyone he once knew asking him questions at all times he’d shut down. He still does sometimes just totally disassociate from a situation if too many people are pressing him on something he doesn’t want to touch. Steve had learned where these landmines lay and dodges them astutely. He knows Bucky doesn’t need to be asked what he wants, because making decisions can get too hard for him. He knows Bucky doesn’t need to be told he’s safe or okay, because he knows that, he’s checked for that. Bucky needs to know the people he’s meant to protect are safe and Steve is standing and ready to provide that reassurance.

“Water,” Bucky croaks, “I...I think I- it was the desert, Steve. I woke up- I was asleep and… the desert,” and his best guy sounds so lost and hurt that Steve wants to throw himself into Bucky’s arms but he knows that will only startle the other man so he refrains. Instead, Steve makes himself even smaller, shrinking in on his frail frame even more, as if from cold, wrapping his arms around himself and tip toeing forwards. Bucky does not turn around.

When Steve is standing a little ways away, and still behind Bucky, he murmurs, “You need me to get you a glass, love?” and Bucky nods stiffly. 

“Please,” he rasps. Steve  _ tsks _ sympathetically at the sound of Bucky’s voice, shredded to hell like he’s been screaming or trying not to and that knowledge alone makes Steve want to wrap the poor guy in a blanket and force him to sleep forever. Comfortably. On a cloud or something.

“Okay, I can do that. I’ll get you your drink,” reaches an arm out to rest a hand on quivering muscle, “and you can sit on the couch, okay? I’ve got it,” he’s encouraging, pleading. Nightmares make Bucky needy and Steve doesn’t want to make him feel embarrassed at all for how vulnerable he’s feeling.

Bucky sucks in a shaking, rattling breath that sounds like something akin to Steve in the throes of an asthma attack, “Okay.”

“Yeah? Can I make you some tea too? It’ll help you get back to bed.”

“Please can- yes but I need...can you…” he trails off and takes another quaking breath. Steve grips his bicep now, stroking his thumb over the muscle soothingly, “stay? Close?”

“Of course, of course baby. You need to let go of this first,” Steve instructs. Bucky does so immediately, “and now you need to sit. I’ll be done in just a second.”

“Okay. T-thank you,” and he stands there, long strands of messy, sweat and sleep mussed hair falling in front of his perfect grey eyes. Steve bites his lip and nods, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion and affection.

“You’re welcome Buck. Hug?” 

Bucky takes two small, stuttering steps away from the fridge and looks down at himself in low slung sweats and a worn thin wife beater. He wiggles the fingers of the metal arm curiously and looks back up at Steve with this look that shakes all 5 feet and four inches of Steve Rogers like a grenade’s just gone off. Bucky nods and Steve quickly wraps himself in those arms, both arms, and throws his own around Bucky’s waist.

“‘Til the end of the line, right?”

He smudges a kiss into Bucky’s neck, “‘Til the end of the line.”

 

  * Tony



“Tony that’s enough,” Bucky is saying, gripping the other man’s arm as discreetly as possible. Steve is watching from his end of the table with a clenched jaw because he knows _ ,  _ he  _ knows _ , this isn’t going to turn out the way any one person in the room wants it to. Steve is just trying to think of a way to intervene without causing even more of an uproar, considering he’s on the other side of the table and cannot jump across it to assist his boyfriends.

“No, no, it’s  _ fine _ . Let’s listen to what the kid has to say,” Justin Hammer drawls, waving off his own security detail that has risen as Tony has, real slow and smooth, looking all the while like the cat that got the cream and Steve sees Tony flinch a little, in anger or shock, at the obvious emulation of Bucky’s slow Brooklyn accent. Bucky just clenches his jaw and his left fist, if indistinguishably. Bucky himself has not gotten up from his seat next to Tony (and across from Pepper who  _ definitely _ should have been the one running this particular meeting), but he’s looking like that’s been quite the feat. He’s working, technically, as Tony’s bodyguard and assistant, and it is not really his place to interject in business matter, but Bucky is very protective of Tony’s honor on a good day, and Justin Hammer being present is likely criteria for a bad day. Steve pretends that his iPad is the most interesting thing in the world.

“Don’t be uncouth,” Pepper interjects suddenly. She is ever the diplomat and ever the most frighteningly powerful person in the room and she flips her perfectly coiffed hair over her shoulder and stands too, facing Justin, “there will obviously be a  _ gap _ , of sorts, in agreement with this arrangement, but if you would like for it to continue to benefit you I suggest you rethink your approach to this situation.  _ Both _ of you,” she commands with a glare at Tony, who sputters indignantly at this. Other than that, there is utter silence in the room.

“I agree, Ms. Potts. And I do apologize, Stark, Barnes,” Justin says in the most self satisfied tone someone who’s just been reprimanded like a child possibly can.

“I’m sure you do,” Pepper says demurely, “I think it is best that I personally oversee the dealings in conjecture with Mr. Hammer from here on forward,” she suggests, taking her seat and gesturing for everyone around her to do so. Steve makes eye contact with Bucky from across the table, who gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Tony is sitting as still as a statue in his anger.

“Agreed,” he grinds out, not looking at anyone.

Pepper gives him a slightly concerned looks, hesitating before looking to Steve on her right, “Take note of that Steven. And schedule a private meeting with Mr. Hammer as soon as possible. This gathering is adjourned,” she says sternly, and fixes just about everyone in the room with a look that could mean nothing less than  _ get the hell out _ . Even Justin Hammer files out accordingly with a flippant comment about his assistant being in contact. Pepper does not even look away from Tony as she nods at him.

Once the room is empty, the four of them, Pepper, Steve, Bucky, and Tony, sit in silence and stare at each other. Well, Steve and Bucky stare at each other and Pepper stares at Tony, who stares at nothing. Steve knows immediately what’s going on, knows what set him off, and feels a little like shit about not having said anything that giant bag of dick tips Hammer about being a grown up bully. He knows that him intervening only would have made matters worse and more awkward for everyone but still,  Tony is a lot more sensitive than he’d like for people to believe, especially about his work and the people he cares about and of course that means Hammer managed to make a snide comment about both of those things.  _ Of course _ .

“Tony that was completely and utterly out of line,” Pepper begins, and before any of them can interject, she raises her hand to silence them, “but I understand why you said what you did. Justin’s a shit and expects you to kiss his ass because that’s what he’s used to, and I know you won’t do that.”

There’s a pause, “Oh I kiss ass,” he smirks, “but you’re right. I’d never kiss his. I’d actually rather… I can’t think of something so immeasurably terrible to complete that analogy but I’m sure you get this gist,” Tony says waving a hand dismissively. Bucky snorts derisively, and Steve knows Pepper can’t tell, but the two of them are holding hands under the table. That small noise, and probable squeeze of his hand, was enough approval and forgiveness (as unneeded as it is) for Tony to drop his guard and slump backwards in his seat with a sigh. He still won’t look anyone in the eye though. Steve wants to touch him.

“Well we still have to work with him. No matter how much of a pompous ass he is,” Pepper concludes.

“Being a pompous ass myself, you’d think I’d be more well versed in the art, but honestly,” Tony sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “the guy gives me a damn hernia. I’m a fucking superhero. I’m  _ fucking _ superheroes. A douchebag in a suit should not be the cause of a hernia in my life.”

“Nothing should be causing hernias in your life, what?” Bucky questions.

“Oh please, there are  few things I can think of that would cause me a hernia,” Tony shoots back.

Bucky rolls his eyes, “Name  _ one _ .”

Eyebrow raised in concession of this challenge, a smirk spreads across Tony’s face, but it’s pinched at the edges, “Only one?”

“You’re a man of leisure, Tony Stark. I’m sure even that will be a difficulty for the likes of you.”

“Oh you think you’re so  _ tough _ don’t you Brooklyn?”

“You said it, brat, not me,” Bucky laughs, sounding all the while like the nickname Tony has bestowed upon him.

“Well I hate to be the one to interrupt this little lovers’ spat but I’m serious Tony. We still have to deal with Hammer, and yes, I’ll personally take care of him, but he’ll always be around. There’s not too much we can do,” Pepper says regrettably. 

“We can do this later yeah?” Tony asks tiredly, the smile that he’d plastered on his face falling immediately, “because I’m so not in the mood I can’t even make a joke about it.”

“Of course we can, Tony. Just make sure you clear up some time to work this out, okay? He sucks eggs, I know, but we’ve gotta deal with him.”

“Yeah yeah, I know. Thanks Pep,” he mutters, standing to give her a peck on the cheek as she struts out of the conference room. Steve takes that as his cue to get up and walk towards his boyfriends. He perches himself on the edge of Tony’s knee, careful not to wrinkle either of their suits as he turns to wind his arms around Tony’s neck. His hands automatically find their way to Steve’s waist to hold him steady and it’s nice, but those hands are balled into fists of barely contained anger and something else that’s tightening in the crease between eyebrows.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks quietly, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder. He’s aware that Bucky is still sitting in the chair next to them but he doesn’t interrupt this little love session. It’s happened enough to both of them for the other to know when all of the hands and teeth and touches would be too much. Tony sucks in a large breath that makes his chest rise under Steve.

“I’m fine,” he grates out, sighing with the words. Sometimes Tony needs to stop himself before he lets go, before he feels like his skin is stretched too thin over his bones and he ends up in a panic induced haze, rocking in a corner somewhere. Steve lets him.

“Are you sure?” he presses gently.

Bucky doesn’t like for his insecurities to be acknowledged when he’s anxious and fraying. He would rather Steve pretend everything is normal and be comforted by touch instead of words. He prefers the silence that comes with centering himself and he prefers to have Steve in orbit while he’s doing so. Steve can do that.

Tony, on the other hand, needs the noise. He needs something,  _ someone _ , to bring him back from the deafening nothing that floods his mind whenever he goes to that place. Unlike Bucky, Tony needs someone else to center him, because he can find too much of that stillness in himself. He hates the raw emptiness that comes for him in these moments, pungent and visceral, and he always bears his need for comfort and living with a stoic facade of shame. But it’s okay because Steve can do this too, he can be this for Tony.

“Positive,” Tony grunts, tightening his grip around Steve’s miniscule waist, the movement sending a shiver down Steve’s spine that makes him curl into the other man’s warmth. He tangles his fingers in the hair at the nape of Tony’s neck. Tony sighs again.

“I won’t mind if you don’t feel well, Tony, you know that,” he reassures quietly, not looking up at Tony, who he’s sure is staring rigidly forward, waiting to crack just a little under the pressure. Steve squeezes his boyfriend tighter and looks over to Bucky, who is staring at the two of them with a look of pure, unadulterated adoration.  _ Bring the car _ , he mouths, gets a nod in return. The door closes with a nearly silent  _ snick _ as he leaves.

“I’m okay Steve, really. You didn’t have to send Man of Steel out like that.”

Steve leans up and, choosing to ignore everything Tony’s just said, presses a kiss to his mouth, “Are you sure?” he asks. Plants another one on him, to his jaw, “Because you seem kinda of wound up,” another kiss, this time to his forehead, “and I just wanna help,” a kiss to the spot behind Tony’s ear that gets him gasping. Hands tighten on his body even more now, dragging him forward so that Steve ends up straddling one of Tony’s thighs.

“You? Help?” Tony scoffs, “You’re a little demonic-”

Steve lets out a breathy little laugh, and kisses Tony’s jugular, “You won’t finish that damn sentence if you want to cum any time soon.”

Tony slumps in his seat, relaxes into Steve’s touch, and doesn’t finish the damn sentence.

 

  * Tony & Bucky



When Steve walks steps out of the elevator he knows something is wrong because there’s a broken antique clock on the floor and lots of heavy breathing coming from the living room but not the good kind. He’s still in his tac suit from training the new S.H.I.E.L.D recruits, one of whom he nearly came to physical not-training blows with because the fucker thought it was real funny that an “itty guy” like Steve could teach him how to fight, his feet are killing him, and he just wants to pass out on the couch but the air tells him this is absolutely not an option. He sighs to himself, squares his shoulders, and marches into the sunken living room. Bucky is standing there, alone, hair falling in sweaty limp strands in front of his face, and doing all that heavy breathing himself. His face has a residual flush of anger and immediately Steve takes in the sight of the coffee table (with a very impressive imprint of fingers gripping its side) covered in broken glass and spilled wine, and the state of the wall next to Tony’s TV. There’s a hole in the plaster, chunks of it are scattered on the ground.

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” he breathes, awestruck. Bucky is glaring at the floor mutely, looking absolutely furious. Anyone else would be absolutely terrified of the sight but Steve isn’t so he continues his trek into the living room. Bucky barely reacts.

“Bucky? What the hell happened in here?”

After a gaping silence, “I can’t stay here,” Bucky mutters miserably. He still won’t look at Steve but now he looks more defeated than angry. Steve pauses where he is. Bucky is taking up a lot of the air in the room, purely just by force of his emotions and Steve wants to reach out and touch him but. There’s still about a yard of space between them; they’re separated by the ruined coffee table and understanding. Bucky is rigid and Steve hasn’t heard him say anything like this since the first few months of his recovery following his return from Afghanistan. He notices that Bucky’s holding the arm stiffly and he can’t even imagine what in the fucking hell happened between him and Tony that would have him reverting to old defense mechanisms but something yawning and a little angry opens up in his chest with the realization.

“What do you mean, Buck? This is- you live here.”

Bucky shakes his head, “I don’t belong h- he doesn’t want me here,” he whispers. Steve is shaking his head now too, immediately, vehemently.

“I don’t know what happened Buck, but Tony wants you here just as much as I do. You know that.” Neither of them have moved and the silence feels suffocating around them. The stillness is making Steve nervous and unsure, he doesn’t understand what’s going on here or why and he’s nervous about that too. He doesn’t make a move to get any closer to Bucky but he wants to. His mind is racing with possibilities of worse case scenarios.

“No he doesn’t. I h- _ hurt _ him,” Bucky gasps wetly, as if he’s about to cry. Steve starts to step around the table, “He’s  _ hurt _ and he’s going to  _ hate _ me.”

Finally, Steve is close enough to get his hands around Bucky’s biceps. Bucky, who is trembling, leans into the two points of contact and closes his eyes as if accepting some great burden.

“I fucked this up. I got- I was so fucking  _ mad _ , Steve,” he sighs. Steve nods, though Bucky can’t see him.

“That’s okay, it’s okay to be mad. But what  _ happened _ ?”

***

Steve finds Tony in the bathroom of an apartment three floors below them. It’s the apartment that had been reserved as Sam’s but Sam isn’t around so Tony is instead. Tony is in the empty clawfoot tub (specially hand made to Sam’s requests), fully clothed and staring ahead with startling dead eyes. Steve makes as much noise as possible to alert Tony to his presence. 

“I know he didn’t mean it,” Tony sighs, not looking at Steve but the far wall of windows instead. He doesn’t blink, and Steve can’t see half of Tony’s face but he knows there’s going to be a bruise high on his cheek bone where Bucky said he’d grabbed him too tight. The thought makes Steve’s stomach churn.

“That doesn’t make it okay,” he says just a quiet from his place in the door frame. Tony nods to himself and doesn’t say anything for a while.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“No you shouldn’t have.”

“But he shouldn’t have almost broken my face.”

“No he shouldn’t have.”

“I’m not angry at him though,” Tony assures him, and that makes Steve breathe a sigh of relief. There was a time in their relationship, in the beginning when Bucky was new for Tony and Tony new for Bucky and they couldn’t figure out how the hell they’d fit around and with each other. Tony would be mind numbingly insecure in the stability of his relationship with Steve around the other man, and Bucky would avoid Tony like the plague for fear of Tony’s quiet hatred of him. There would be arguments about favorites and awkward dinners between the two of them when Steve was working late at S.H.I.E.L.D. or out with Natasha and it was bad. Steve is happy they’ve moved past that, for the most part, and he’s glad that this grenade of a night hasn’t thrown a wrench in everything the three of them have worked so hard for. 

“Well tell him that. He’s sure you hate him now.”

“I just needed some space to breathe.”

“I get it.”

“That hole in the wall was almost my head,” Tony states blunty, finally,  _ finally _ , looking over at Steve with wide panicked eyes. He doesn’t show it in front of either of them, how frightened he gets sometimes at  _ both _ of their capabilities, at red on  _ both _ of their ledgers, but right now Steve can see it. And he feels a little guilty because he brought this into Tony’s life and he created this chasm of danger and claimed that it all came with loving him so Tony had no choice but to choose. All he does is nod though, quietly, sympathetically. 

“Take your time. But come back to us.”

***

It’s 4 in the morning when Tony does as instructed and comes back up to the penthouse. He doesn’t make much noise or turn on any lights, instead heading straight into the bathroom and shutting the door behind himself. Steve hears him though, has always been a light sleeper and is trained to detect threats like these, so he hears and he follows Tony into the bathroom where he’s sitting on the lid of the toilet with his head in his hands. There are dark rings around his eyes and, as Steve expected, a bruise on his face that’s already a disgusting gangrene imitation, all purple and green in color. Steve gasps.

“ _ Shit _ babe your face,” he utters in shock. Tony shakes his head but Steve is diving for the first aid kit under the sink anyway, bringing out the witch hazel and a few cotton balls too. He goes over to his boyfriend quietly and kneels in front of him, wetting the cotton ball and swabbing it over the bruise despite Tony’s flinch. He dabs some antiseptic on too, before covering it with a gauze pad. The bruise is cracked and sort of huge, and Steve knows when Bucky sees it covering Tony’s entire cheek he’s going to be beating himself up into sleepless nights until he collapses from exhaustion. 

“Thanks,” Tony mutters tiredly. Steve nods as he packs everything away except for a cold pack, handing it to the other man for him to crack. He does so obediently while Steve returns the kit to its rightful place. They sit in silence for a few minutes before the bathroom door cracks open again and Bucky is standing in the door frame with a haunted look on his face. His fingernails still have that gross spackle shit caked beneath them from the hours he spent repairing the hole in the wall, and Tony probably didn’t see, but he also hauled a brand new coffee table into the apartment too. Steve looks up at him from his spot on the floor, but Bucky is only looking at Tony. 

“I-I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, metal arm gripping the door frame so tightly Steve can hear it groaning against the pressure, “I didn’t- I didn’t mean to hurt you. And then you- the wall! I’m sorry about the wall and your table,” he stumbles towards Tony now, “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean  _ any of it _ , Tony please,” and he sinks to his knees in front of a startled Tony whose eyes have gone big and wild, whose hair is dirty and unwashed, who has been sitting in a bathtub for 6 hours. He sits in front of Tony, his hands gripping Tony’s legs, not to ground himself, but to keep Tony near and all Steve can do is watch, in sort of awe, as Tony, in all his confused exhausted glory, touches his hand to Bucky’s face and gives him a smile that turns into a grimace and says,

“I know, Brooklyn,” and Bucky totally relaxes, shuddering to himself and resting his head on Tony’s knee. Tony’s other hand finds its way to the hairs at the nape of Bucky’s hair and he twirls his fingers through the sweat damp curls, “I know you didn’t. And neither did I, by the way. I didn’t mean what I said.”

They lay together that night, the three of them, with Tony in the middle of the bed and Bucky’s head resting on his chest, their legs tangled together, and Steve curled in the protective circle of Tony’s arm, holding him close to the two of them. 

“Are you okay?” Steve whispers in the dark, between the sheets. He gets cold, but his boys are warm, so they never really sleep with a duvet.

“I am if you are?” Tony says, squeezing his hand on the back of Bucky’s neck.

“Getting there,” he mumbles, cuddling closer. Tony chuckles.

“I love you both. So much,” Steve sighs contently.    
  


  * Steve



Steve’s job is demanding, that much is obvious. He works with trained killers and professional liars like it’s a normal 9-5 but he wears a Tactical Light Suit for most of it and usually comes home covered in bullet shaped bruises. He trains the type of people that are impressed with his 67 confirmed kills instead of horrified and that’s his life. Those people think Bucky and Natasha are some kind of royalty and he watches them at work sometimes, catches the glint of Bucky’s arm or the flash of Natasha’s hair, and he thinks that maybe this isn’t where he’s meant to be. He’s been off of active duty for 3 months now, due to an injury he suffered in the field that resulted in him getting shot  _ and  _ stabbed, and it’s weighing on his. He doesn’t mind the recruits, he likes training them and he likes proving them wrong about his capabilities (it’s hard to believe a guy the same size as Black Widow has much to offer), but he also like jumping out of planes and he likes punching guys in the face who really deserve it. He’s ansty.

“I don’t know what to  _ do _ , Buck,” he whines, falling down into the plush chair in Bucky’s office. He used to be a little jealous of the fact that  _ Bucky _ is the one with the office out of the two of them, until he saw how much paperwork the guy files through each week and now he’s glad he doesn’t have a super swanky place to throw his gear. Bucky likes it though, says that the monotony of paperwork puts some orderly perspective of the hecticness of their job and well, Steve can’t argue with that. Plus, Bucky has to deal with everyone calling him “James” or “Sgt. Barnes” all day  _ and _ wear a suit and, again,  Steve is glad he doesn’t have his boyfriend’s job. He hates ties. 

“There’s not much to do,” he shrugs, “you’ve only been cleared with medical for two weeks. No director in this building, not even me,” he stresses with a raised brow, “is going to just throw an op at you that fast. Fury’s given us all orders. Sorry pal.”

“I fucking hate bureaucracies.”

***

So a courier drone is sent to the penthouse with the stack of files about the mission and Steve  _ knows _ it’s one of Natasha’s because who the hell else would send a courier. And Tony is in the workshop and Bucky has been overseeing a recon mission for the past three days and practically sleeping at S.H.I.E.L.D so Steve is welcome to open it in the living room. 

The files are brief and very vague and exactly the type of thing Natasha would love. And Steve loves running ops with Natasha because not only is she one of his best friends, but she’s also one of the best in the business, a true professional and incredibly worthy of every sort of horrified honor she’s ever received. Working with her is awesome. Steve calls the unknown, scrambled, number at the bottom of one of the pieces of paper. 

“Nomad accepting,” he says immediately in his “badass assassin voice.”

“That was quick,” Natasha replies blandly. She’s probably spread out on a beach in Cuba or something right now, recovering from a hard week in the Finnish woodlands freezing her toes off. 

“I’ve been working as Bucky’s glorified secretary for months now Tasha, you don’t realize how much I need this.”

“So you told him?” she asks knowingly. 

“No. But. He’ll be fine. It’s a week like op, and he hasn’t even been home lately,” Steve shrugs, “It’ll be fine.”

Natasha hesitates but doesn’t outwardly disagree with him, “Okay then. Wheels up at 0500.”

***

Steve wants to blame this on bad intel but the Black Widow doesn’t get or give bad intel so he’s pretty sure it’s a mistake their team made. They’d flown into Cabo to pick up one of Natasha’s jets and load up with backup to fly to Mazatlán on a Tuesday and it’s only Thursday and things have fallen the fuck apart. After hopping off the jet Steve and Natasha had divided their unit into three inconspicuous sedans and made their way to their stake out positions outside of a mansion outside of the city limits. The place was home to a man who, cringe worthily enough, goes by the name “El Diablo” and was running a sweatshop/opiate trafficking business out of his basement and is known locally for burning down the homes of those late with payment. The most surprising thing about his operation was his affiliation with the local police, who were turning in runaways, stupid Americans, and prostitutes to El Diablo to be his workers and objects of pleasure. Most of that had been in the file, minus the police part, and when Steve’s extraction team had rolled up in their perfectly beat up car, the chief of police had been waiting with his entire department for them, but that wasn’t the problem. The  _ problem _ was one of the trainees, this being his very first op, not having his comm turned on and walking straight into the line of fire of a sniper perched in the bushes on the hills hiding the mansion, with a small group of prisoners with him. He’d have known the damn sniper was waiting if he’d heard Steve say it in warning, and he would still be alive. The rookie, Bedford, and the boy, the 13 year old boy he’d had shoved under his arm, dropped like a sack of potatoes in the middle of the hallway while the 3 other people, two girls in their late teens or early 20s and a teenage boy with the biggest, most watery blue eyes Steve has ever seen, stood in shock and almost started screaming before Steve left his directorial position and lept into action to save them. He had one of Natasha’s guys cover his six as he rushed through the building, shooting down anyone not in Tony’s specially designed tac gear, so that he could get to them, thinking all the while of the image he left on his laptop, the feed from Bedford’s vest camera, remembering the wide open, carved out look on that other boy’s face. When he finally arrived to the hall where the three of them stood frozen, the boy was curled in on himself, eyes gone dead and flat as one of the other girls, who was probably his sister, talked to him in soothing Spanish tones. The second girl looked him over with cynical, untrusting eyes that reminded him of Bucky’s with their intense calculation. She clenched her jaw. 

“ _ I’m here to help.” _

***

They debrief on the plane from Cabo back to the states. Bedford’s seat is the only one that is empty and Steve stares at it hollowly as the information Natasha spits at the team washes over him. There were three civilian casualties. The child with Bedford was 12 year old Daniel Jose Mateo Ortega who’d run away from an abusive father three weeks prior in an attempt to make it to his maternal aunt’s house. Steve wanted her to be the only person alerted to his death, but that was against the law and he’d had to look the kid’s drunken shit stain of a father in the eye and tell him that what should have been his most prized possession is no longer breathing. The man had blinked, all hazy eyed and asked him where “the kitten in the catsuit” was, leering the whole time. Steve had to fight not to gag. Natasha also tells him, deadpan in tone, that his record had jumped from 67 to 78 in less that 10 minutes. 

When he gets to the penthouse, no one is there. He walks through the bedroom and sees it’s in a state of disarray and wants to complain about the lack of clean sheets and the dirty clothes on the floor but, again, no one is home, and he doesn’t have it in him to care. He takes his shield off his back and sits it in the closet, takes his guns (Glock 47, Desert Eagle .50, American Classic SPS Vista 9mm)  and unloads them, stacking his clips and organizing them in their designated drawer before turning away and sinking to the ground. He stares at Tony’s rows and rows of designer suits and jeans and counts each one to himself, trying to arrange his breathing in a functional fashion before swallowing hard.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes sir?”

“Is- where’s Tony?” he asks weakly, rubbing a hand through his hair. His fingers are slick with gun oil.

“Master Tony is currently uptown having lunch with Ms. Potts. Would you like me to alert him to your return?”

“No,” he coughs, “no that’s fine. Where is Bucky?”

“Right here,” comes a voice, one of Steve’s favorite voices, one of the only he wants to hear right now. Bucky is in his suit, minus his tie, and he looks absolutely flustered, and sort of angry. His hair is out of place and he towers over Steve with a look in his eye that could rival only a glare from Tony, “Where in the  _ fuck _ have you been, Steven, Jesus,” he gasps, falling to the ground in front of Steve and gripping his face in his big hands, the metal one cold and harsh against Steve’s overheated skin.

“Mexico.”

“I-I woke up Tuesday and you were gone. Tony hadn’t seen or heard you leave, Jarvis wasn’t permitted to tell us where you were. I was so worried; we were so worried. Tony’s been a mess,” Bucky whispers intently, maintaining eye contact with Steve all the while, who feels the sting of inevitable tears.

“I’m sorry,” he squeaks, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean- I didn’t think this was going to be-,” he sucks in a desperate breath and Bucky strokes his thumb over Steve’s cheek, “I didn’t think anything would go wrong and it did, Buck. Everything fell to absolute shit and it’s- well I couldn’t do anything about it.”

Bucky just looks at him, silently. His blue eyes are thoughtful and assessing, but gentle, and he watches Steve like you’d watch a caged animal. “You stay right here,” he commands, voice slipping into  _ that _ tone, and Steve shrinks back some, nodding. Bucky stands and walks away, out of the walk in closet and back towards their bedroom. Steve can hear him muttering to someone on the phone, his responses terse and  short. When that call ends, he begins another, this time in tones that Steve can, in his guilt ridden haze, identify as concerned and familiar. His boyfriend enters the room with the top two buttons of his shirt  undone and his fancy leather shoes removed. He’s no longer wearing a belt. Steve catalogues all of these things with frantic eyes as the other man kneels back down to his level. A large hand grips the side of his face and Steve wants to nuzzle into the warmth of Bucky’s touch but doesn’t really know if he deserves it right now.

“We’re going to get you out of your gear okay Steve? But you need to stand up for me  _ sugar _ ,” and Steve shudders, a small chill inching down his spine at the tone of Bucky’s voice and the use of the endearment that he only pulls out when the time is right. Steve immediately feels safer, the room stops running out of oxygen.

***

By the time Tony returns from his lunch with Pepper, Steve and Bucky are in the shower. On the phone, Bucky had sounded so confused and hurt and scared for Steve, describing him all small and tucked into the corner with the weapons drawers, as if he didn’t know where else to go. And Tony knows Steve is great on missions, he knows Steve can get in and out of any situation, is level headed and a natural leader in the field, so he knows that whatever happened must have shaken him straight to the core. He doesn’t hesitate in his prep for the night to come; sometimes Steve needs to go down  _ hard _ to pull him out his stupors when he comes home from missions, and that usually takes both himself and Bucky. They don’t only play when things are bad, but rarely do both of them ever dom Steve at the same time. 

Tony sets out water bottles on the nightstand, and has Jarvis order some sandwiches from the deli two blocks over to be delivered. He changes the sheets in their bedroom even though he knows they’ll probably get ruined. Then, he strips out of his clothes and makes his way to the bathroom where the shower, in its 5 headed glory, is spitting out water so hot the entire room is consumed in a billow of steam. As he sequesters himself behind the glass doors, he feels Bucky’s metal arm grab his hand and tug him in further, meeting his lips in a short, firm kiss. When they’re like this Bucky only knows how to be sweet to Steve, his  _ sugar _ . Tony isn’t his concern.

“Look at how pretty he is,” he says, loud enough for Steve to hear over the showerheads, loud enough to make Steve squirm at being discussed like he isn’t in the room, from his place between Bucky’s feet, “look at how well he takes my cock.”

Tony does look, he does see how pretty Steve looks, and he says as much, kneeling down to whisper it in his ear and he strokes wet blonde locks out of Steve’s face. His eyes have gone a little glassy with the promise of subspace and Tony watches them lose focus even more as Bucky fucks his cock down Steve’s throat slowly. He decides to play and tells Steve about all the ways they’re going to make him feel so good, make him cry with how good everything feels. Steve stays there on his knees, deepthroating Bucky helplessly and moaning absently, as if he can’t help it.

“Do you like that idea, honey? Me and your Daddy fucking you until you cry, huh, taking such good care of you?” he coos, making Steve moan louder than he has all night around Bucky’s cock and try to nod. Bucky gives them both an absolutely filthy grin.

“Say it sugar. Tell us how much you want it, and we’ll give it to you.”

Steve pulls away from the dick in his mouth, leaving a thick trail of saliva, “ _ Please _ , Daddy, I need you and sir t-to fuck me,” he whines with wide eyes. 

“Oh  _ good _ boy,” Bucky simpers, shoving two fingers into Steve’s mouth. Tony holds his lips open wide.

“You’re such a good sweet boy, honey. We’re gonna take such good care of you.”

Steve whimpers.

***

The next morning the three of them are wrapped in sheets that are, as Tony predicted, completely disgusting. They’re covered in dried come and lube and his body is sticky with dried sweat, matting his skin to Steve’s and Bucky’s, neither of whom are awake. He stares at the ceiling.

“Jarvis?” he calls.

“Yes sir?”

“Cancel all of Brooklyn’s meetings today.”

“Already done sir,” Jarvis assures.

“And have Stephanie come up to make us breakfast. I’m feeling French toast.”

“Of course sir. Is that all sir?”

“Yes, thank you Jarvis.”

“You’re welcome sir. Stephanie is on her way.”

***

Steve wakes up because he smells coffee and then he sits up too fast and almost passes out. His body is pleasantly sore all over, he’s hot and tacky in his space between Bucky and Tony, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to worst pins and needles ever in his leg because it’s so asleep that he’s not even sure it’s still connected to his body. Bucky is as heavy as he looks. 

“Buck,” he grunts, shoving at his chest. Tony isn’t in bed, but that’s nothing new, so there’s space for Bucky to roll the hell over.

“ _ Buck _ ,” he tries again, shoving harder. He gets a grunt and a sniffle in reply.

“Steven,” he whines, pushing Steve away like he’s the one to blame here. Steve pouts indignantly before rolling himself out of the bed, wrapped in a sheet like some girl in a morning after rom com. He wanders down the hall, towards the smell of coffee and the kitchen, and he finds Tony sitting on top of the counter near the sink and beaming at him.

“Morning! I swear the two of you sleep like geriatrics,” he greets and Steve shuffles over to plant himself between his knees and demand a kiss.

“Wore me out last night,” he says quietly. Tony grins into the kiss and brings his hand carefully, as it’s holding a coffee mug, around Steve’s waist to squeeze him closer. 

“You needed it.”

“I did. Thank you,” Steve blushes. Tony nods sweetly anyway.

“Anytime. Now. breakfast?”

“Is that homemade French toast?” Bucky stomps into the room, groaning, stomach rumbling, and cracking his back so loudly that both Steve and Tony cringe.

“C’mon, Steve, let’s get some coffee into you and some food into Brooklyn before he withers away.”

And he slides off the counter, and he pulls Steve towards his seat and pushes him gently down into it. There is a cup of coffee, just the way Steve likes it (sugar with a splash of black coffee), sitting in front of him, a fried egg and slices of homemade French toast with powdered sugar on top on a plate next to it, and a big, sleep soft Bucky Barnes sitting across from him, grumbling about the early hour and his back pains. Steve makes a note to himself to work out those knots while they’re in the shower.

“Tony, cancel Buck’s m-,” he begins, looking at his other boyfriend, who is smugly munching on a slice of bacon.

“Already done. You just eat, you don’t have to worry about us today.”

Steve frowns, “O-okay. Can one of you call Tasha for me and-,”

“Did that last night,” Bucky interjects around a mouth full of eggs.

And the sun is streaming in through the curtains covering the windows, just barely, draping them in honeyed light, and Bucky is grunting contently, and Tony is just buzzing with the energy that’s probably three cups of coffee ahead of Steve and. Steve smiles.   
  
  
***

 

 

 

and that's a wrap! thank you for reading! follow my thirsty ass on [twitter](https://twitter.com/civilwore) where we can cry about how sebprived we are, as I have not seen my baby in weeks and I miss him dearly. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes okay, I hope that was okay and if it wasn't please don't tell me lmao. I'd love to write more from this universe, or just more little spy gangster Steve so encouragement (in the form of kudos and comments) is very welcome. Thanks again for reading.


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